Ashes

You sit at the far end of the long tale from him, listening to the staff meeting you have sat through multiple times now. You are trying not to look at him, because you know, despite everything, it makes your cheeks color, and makes you ache inside. You can't help but sneak a few glances, hoping to see you looking at you. He just gazes at the endless set of slides, emotionless. You sigh, and try not to think.

There is magic between the two of you. He was a emotional safe place for you for a decade, always there when your fears were eating at you, or when an ex screamed at you, threw things at you, made you feel small, and stupid, and weak. He was open and honest with you about his feelings for you, but let you fall again and again. He somehow picked out your secret love of BDSM, and his stories thrilled you. Eventually you let him in to your life. He was good to you, listening to you, supporting you, catering to your pleasures and your every fantasy. He called you his Good Girl, and your shivered with pleasure every time he said it.

So you ran.

You ran from what could have been the first healthy relationship in your life. You ran from actually having these ideas you had for most of your life fulfilled. You couldn't help but question if you were worthy of being his Good Girl, you were afraid of what your friends would think of him. Years of others telling you of your lack of value made you afraid of being valued.

You know you hurt him, and that just reinforces your belief that you don't deserve being treated the way he treated you. And yet...you still feel torn, confused. You still watch your phone, half expecting a text with a compliment, a flirt, even a stupid joke. Hearing his voice makes you ache, standing next to him makes your body respond the same as it did when he was kissing his way down your naked body. Every day you wonder if you made the wrong choice, if you can fix it...if you are worthy. But the inner doubts, the old habits are strong...

You nearly cry out when your phone vibrates in your pocket, jolting you from your conflict. You glance down, and its from him. You glance up, and he is as still as a statue, eyes fixed ahead. You open the text.

I have half a mind to bend you over the table, pull down your pants, and spank your ass.

You feel your body respond, before you even finish reading, and you squirm in your chair. You read it several times, feeling your cheeks redden. You feel trapped, and unsure of how to respond. You know you shouldn't. But the burst of excitement feels so good. Knowing you are desired. His knowing just what to say to feed your wants. You send him a little heart in return.

The rest of the meeting drags on with no response from him, and you having to sit there wet and aching. When its over, he slips out, without a glance at you, leaving you both relieved, and disappointed. You still linger after the meeting, cleaning up again and again, just to savor the lingering thrill of him slipping back in, and coming up behind you...

He doesn't, and you finally leave, feeling frustrated, confused, and wanting.

You can't sleep. You toss and turn, feeling alone, hollow, horny. You tried watching porn, bondage scenes, spankings, floggings...and every time your hand slips between your legs, your mind jumps to his fingers, expertly working your body, leaving you more frustrated. You stare at the clock, and almost against your will, you get up, dress, and grab your keys.

Fifteen minutes later you are sitting in his driveway, staring at his house. You sit there as long minutes drag by, telling yourself to drive away now, that this is the worst thing for both of you, that you should go in now, its what you need. Asking yourself what you will do if he lets you in, what you will do if he shuts the door in your face.

Your hands shake as you pick up your phone.

I'm here.

You can feel your heart beat in your throat as you wait. Maybe he's asleep. Maybe he is ignoring it. Maybe he hates you. Maybe...

Come to the door.

You take three deep breaths, and get out. Your legs feel shaky as you walk up to the door. He opens it for you, and your eyes widen. He is dressed in his leather pants and top, things he couldn't have put on in the few seconds it took him to answer. He is wearing the exotic oil, the scent of which always makes your body clench.

"How...?" you start to ask. He just points to the vague light coming from his bedroom door. You walk through the darkened house, butterflies in your stomach, heart pounding, almost painfully wet. You walk in, and wait for him to enter. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he places a hand on the back of your neck and leads you into the room. He stops you before the closet, where you know he keeps all his gear.

"Kneel." He puts steady pressure on the back of your neck, and it is almost a relief to not be trying to stand on rubbery legs. He reaches down and pulls one arm after the other above your head, before turning away and going into the closet. The sound of the door closing makes you wince. He is more quiet, more intense than ever before, and you are both thrilled and afraid.

He returns, and you look up at him.

"Eyes down", he hisses, and you respond without thought. Into your up raised hands he places a heavy flogger. Its not one you had seen before, and its weight makes your heart skip a beat. He reenters the closet, and you concern yourself with how thick the leather falls are as the lie against your arm. He returns again, and starts laying out his tools on the edge of the bed, just within the limits of what your down turned eyes can see.

A heavy wood paddle, followed by an acrylic one. The thick leather paddle, curved so that will cover and entire hip, which he warned you about. A small flogger with small rubber cords. The weighted nipple clamps. As each one is set down, you feel your heart jump, and your butterflies increase. You wonder if the crotch of your pants will be wet when you stand.

He takes the flogger from your now burning arms, and cups his hand under your chin, raising you to your feet. You meet his eyes, and they betray nothing. Without a word, he pulls your shirt over your head, and tosses it aside. He looks at your bra for a moment, and walks over to a shelf, returning with a curved knife. You close your eyes, and you feel the tip, sharp as a cats claw, glide over your face, your neck, the swell of your breasts. You feel a tug, then one side of your bra sags, the strap cut through. The blade whispers over your chest, and the other strap is sliced through. A small tug, and he cuts through the center, between the cups, and the bra falls away. It lays in a tangle around your feet, and he doesn't bother to move it. He sets the knife aside, and bends down, removing your shoes and socks, stands, and reaches down, opens your pants, pulls them down in a single harsh movement, making you fight for balance. He lets you fumble for a moment, before you regain your balance. You smile sheepishly at him, and he just looks at you.

He kneels and studies your panties. You fight to not squirm, knowing he can see how wet you are. He retrieves the knife, and you bite your lip to not moan. The blade kisses your belly, your inner thigh. You watch, breathing hard, and the tip glides over the thin material, over your lips, back and forth. The steel is unyielding against your delicate flesh, and you fight to keep your legs from trembling. You can't hold back a moan as he repeatedly catches the sharp tip in the thin material.

Finally he makes several deft cuts in the waistband of your panties. Each little snick sound makes your heart jump. He stands, and sets the blade on a shelf, than faces you. He looks you in the eyes as he reaches forward and grips your panties in his hand, fingers sliding across your pussy. With a single pull, he rips the panties from you, and drops them. They are wet and sticky against your bare feet.

With deft movements, he brushes his fingers across your already hard nipples, making you gasp. He picks up the nipple clamps, and pinches one on each nipple, bringing a groan to your lips. Without meeting your eyes, he simply lets them go, the weight thumping into your belly, and the sudden intense tug almost bringing you to your knees.

He sits down, and pulls you across his lap. You can't help but grin, knowing whats coming. He spanks you in a slow steady rhythm, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. You bite your lip, as your ass begins to sting. He is not teasing you, as he used to, just steady blows on one cheek than the other. Your pussy grinds into the leather of his legs, keeping you on the edge, where the right touch could make you cum.

He stops, and stands you up. You lean in, expecting his lips to meet yours, but instead he spins you around, and shoves you face down onto the bed. Using your hair as a handle, he turns your head to face the lined up toys, resting on the edge of your vision. One of his hands wraps around the small flogger, the other pulls your hips higher. The flogger hisses through the air, biting into your shoulders and back. What it lacks in force, it makes up for in stinging material. You wimpier as the rubber moves from your back to your ass, than back up to your shoulders. The whisper it makes is constant, so you never know when to brace for the strike, and you can feel your flesh redden to a glow after a few minutes.

It takes you a few moments to recognize that the whisper has been replaced with silence, and you take a few deep, shaky breaths when you hear the flogger drop to the floor. You see his hand snake down to the wood paddle, and he caresses it the way he used to run his fingers over your skin. You brace yourself as he lifts it into the air.

Leaning into you, he forces a knee between your legs, spreading you open, so the cooler air kisses your pussy. You shiver in pleasure, then cry out as the dark wood comes down on your ass, making you cry out loud. The steady hiss of the flogger is replaced with the loud thump of the unyielding wood smacking into your already tender flesh. A few heartbeats of silence, then it thumps down into the other cheek. Each hit brings a groan or a grunt from you, ache spreading through your ass. You blink back tears, digging your fingers into the bed each time the paddle meets your body. A rush of endorphins makes you feel a little heady, taking the edge off each strike, but seeming to enhance the deep ache left behind.

At last the swings stop, and you hear the paddle hit the floor. He places one hand on the back of your neck, and just holds you there for a few minutes. The cool air washes over your skin, making you try to grind back into his leg, but you freeze when he squeezes your neck. You are wondering what he is waiting for, when he reaches down and picks up the clear acrylic paddle, bringing it down across both cheeks. You let out a cry, then bite down on the covers of the bed. You understand why he took that long pause now. The endorphins have fallen away, making each strike a blossom of pain, already bruised flesh screaming anew. You arch your back, and claw the bed, feeling the pain radiate across your ass, and down into your thighs. Thankfully it is only a short time before he drops the paddle, although your relief is short lived as he picks up the hard leather paddle.

You shake your head, begging him not to. The first strike is every bit as heavy as he promised, cupping your entire hit, taking your breath away. You wonder, briefly, how you will explain the bruises before he smacks the other hip. His movements are slow, calculated, and deliberate. You sob into the bed, tears flowing down your cheeks.

You know that you could end it, simply saying one of the safe words the two of you established nearly a year ago. You trust him to stop, that it would end in an instant. You refuse to speak it, because you have been needing this, craving this, for as long as you can remember.

The endorphins flow back in, deeper this time, leaving you floating, dreamy. It makes the pain abstract. You relax your grip on the bed sheets, grinding yourself into the bed, pleasure and pain intermingling inside you. You feel your heartbeat in your head, and in your pussy, throbbing, steady, free.

He drops the paddle to the side, and hesitates slightly before picking up the heavy flogger. You steel yourself, knowing you shouldn't tense your muscles, but unable to stop yourself. He steps back, taking his leg from between yours, and the missing weight makes you feel open, alone, vulnerable.

The first strike is stunning, a deafening slap in the otherwise silent room, and you cry out, slapping the bed. The falls go from mid shoulders to your lower back, and you can picture red stripes appearing on your flesh in your mind. Two more, one to each ass cheek, and you feel like you are falling. He grabs your hair, and pulls your head up, and you gasp, realizing you had been holding your breath. You take a few deep breaths, and he lets go, allowing your head to drop back to the bed. The bedspread was wet from your tears under your cheek, and soaked with your juices under your thighs. The heavy leather bites into you, traveling up and down your body, for a total of twenty strikes, then you hear the wood fall to the floor.

You shatter, curling up in a ball, sobbing. You feel him get onto the bed next to you and gather your body in his arms. You press your head into his chest, smelling his scent intermingles with leather and sweat. You body shakes with your sobbing, and he just holds you close, stroking your hair. You lose track of the time, as your tears flow and half formed words fall from you. Eventually your tears end, and the mix of bruised ache and burning that covers your entire back comes to the forefront of your mind. Your groan...and then your mind returns to the ache between your thighs, the other half of the need that is filling you. You look up at him, stretching your face to his, as your hand slides down the leather to rest between his legs. Gently but firmly, he guides your hands away, and stands, pulling you to stand next to him. He retrieves your clothing, redressing you slowly, silently. Every time you open your mouth to say something, he turns away, gathering up the ruins of your panties and bra and slipping them into your purse, which he than hands to you.

Opening the door, he waits for you. Stunned, you stand there for a moment, than walk past him, back into the darkness. He opens the front door to you, and you step out into the night. He meets your eyes, at last, and you finally see something past the hardness. His eyes show deep sadness, longing, hurt. You want to say something, you don't know what, but your words fail you. The door slowly closes, and you stand there until you hear the lock turn. You slowly walk back to your car, groaning as you slide your bruised back into the seat.

You stare out into the dark, before pressing your head against the steering wheel, and cry.